


spend it all on you

by figure8



Series: i’ll stop the world [7]
Category: K-pop, SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Companion Piece, Developing Relationship, M/M, Relationship Study, not exactly but they are high school sweethearts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 08:07:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24966454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/figure8/pseuds/figure8
Summary: It goes something like this: Minghao is a rock and Seokmin is the sea, and they kiss and pull away and kiss and then break on each other.
Relationships: Lee Seokmin | DK/Xu Ming Hao | The8
Series: i’ll stop the world [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1532954
Comments: 12
Kudos: 119





	spend it all on you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [earthshaker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthshaker/gifts).



> happy birthday, my dia ❤️ 
> 
> this is a companion piece to _light blue and gentle_. it probably doesn’t make much sense out of that context, and doesn’t exactly have a plot— although i wouldn't quite call it _plotless_. dia has been writing DELICIOUS fic centered around LBAG seokhao, and if you haven’t i greatly encourage you to take a look at the rest of the works in this series ;__; although chronologically this is set before, i think it is best enjoyed read after _be combative/be sweet_
> 
>  **!!** there a few oblique references to homophobia, but that’s really not the theme here, and i really didn’t think it warranted tagging. 
> 
> titled after empty wallets by 5SOS

_ Understand, I’ll slip quietly _

_ away from the noisy crowd _

_ when I see the pale stars rising, blooming, over the oaks. _

_ I’ll pursue solitary pathways _

_ through the pale twilit meadows, _

_ with only this one dream: _

_ You come too. _

— Rainer Maria Rilke 

  
  
  
  
  


Minghao has always been possessive. It took a while for Seokmin to  _ realize it,  _ but looking back now with new awareness he sees it clearly— Minghao’s touch is always double-edged, dual meaning. It is for Seokmin first, a language they’ve become fluent in over the years; but it is also a message to the world.  _ This is mine,  _ fingers curled around Seokmin’s bicep, palm spread over his heart, hold loose on his wrist in the street, leg casually thrown over his when they’re on the couch, hand in his back pocket at the club, gaze hot on him in places where they cannot touch freely—  _ this is mine.  _

There are other ways in which Minghao stakes his claim. Semi-secret bruises, hidden beneath Seokmin’s collar and easy to cover up; except that every time they go out Minghao’s fingers find their way to his throat and pop one button open, rearrange Seokmin’s shirt artfully so that when he moves it falls open just so— just enough.

Scent, too. He buys Seokmin cologne every Christmas, a fond inside joke. When they were in high school he blew all his pocket money on a bottle because Seokmin had offhandedly mentioned that he thought it smelled cool. But it’s the aftershave they share, too, and the fabric softener he carefully buys and pours in with every load of laundry, the smell of their  _ home.  _

It is in his voice, the familiar lilt in the cadence of his sentences over the two syllables of Seokmin’s name. When he says  _ my friend  _ it is infused with meaning like well steeped tea. When he says  _ Seokmin,  _ too, it always sounds like there is space for one more word right before, like Minghao wishes he could say something else altogether but settles on  _ my Seokmin  _ because he can’t. 

And then, of course, it’s the  _ things.  _ Satin shirts. Vintage coats. Silk ties— a frankly worrying amount of them. Watches. Now that Minghao has made it, the  _ things  _ are mostly expensive, but it’s a habit he developed way before he started making bank. The cramped closet they used to share in their tiny apartment in Mapo had been overrun with clothes Minghao had bought specifically because he wanted to see Seokmin in them. Thrifted designer pieces, but also cheap winter sweaters in colors Seokmin had confessed a fondness to. The point was never the money, the point isn’t even the  _ gifting,  _ although that one took more time for Seokmin to put together. 

It really boils down to this: Minghao wants to always be touching Seokmin; and if he cannot do it  _ literally,  _ then it will be figurative, but one way or another he will be  _ on  _ Seokmin,  _ with  _ him, until the touch can become literal again. And maybe someone else would find it overbearing, but Seokmin likes being claimed. He likes catching glimpses of himself in the mirror and smiling fondly at the sight of his thoughtfully curated outfit. He likes being tied to the headboard with Armani ties, too, but that is a story for another day. He likes the reminder— on his wrist, or on tender spots of his body. The ritualistic performance of it, finding new offerings on his bedside table or in their drawers like a renewal of vows. The weight of certainty in the fact Minghao is filling the space they share with objects, with a myriad of small and less small things tethering them materially to this reality. It is a stupid thought to have, maybe, but it is awfully reassuring for Seokmin to know there is simply too much  _ stuff  _ in their apartment for Minghao to just vanish with half of it overnight. It blows him away every morning, when he walks into their kitchen (their kitchen!) and sees the espresso machine Minghao bought for himself, and the wine rack he absolutely had to have, and the framed copy of his first magazine cover. Things— things matter because they are proof of life, and of a willingness to stay. Things matter because their belonging is blurry: Minghao ends up wearing half the shit he buys for Seokmin. The point is always the  _ meaning.  _

  
  


***

  
  


It goes something like this: “Hey,” Minghao says awkwardly, hands shoved in his pockets. “There’s this Chinese action movie playing downtown, you know, the one I was talking to you about?” 

Seokmin raises his eyes from his bento box. Around them the noise of the cafeteria does not let down. 

“Uh-uh?”

“Would you want to, I don’t know, uh, maybe go with me?”

“Sure,” Seokmin smiles. “Will your friend from martial arts be there? You said he was really excited about it.”

He brings it up mostly because he wants Minghao to know he pays attention when Minghao tells him things. He doesn’t expect the clouds over Minghao’s eyes, the way his expression closes on itself just the tiniest bit. Later in his room, staring at the ceiling, he’ll go over the interaction over and over again, try and figure out where he went wrong. 

“Yeah,” Minghao says. “Yeah, I should ask Junhui, you’re right.” 

At the movie theater, Minghao buys popcorn and cola for two, hands Seokmin his drink and puts the snacks between them on the armrest. On Minghao’s left, Junhui spends half the film elbowing him to whisper in his ear in Mandarin, commentary that  _ has  _ to be annoying but mostly just makes Minghao giggle under his breath. Multiple times, as Seokmin goes to get some popcorn so does Minghao, and their greasy fingers meet for a split second, and Seokmin’s stomach twirls on itself. 

*

It goes something like this: Minghao courts him with the dedication of a stubborn fifteen year old. It takes Seokmin a year to understand, and by then his room is already filled with pieces of Minghao’s confession: ticket stubs, souvenirs, polaroids, and one very expensive full size bottle of perfume. On the back of his chair there is a hoodie Minghao keeps forgetting when he comes over. On the inside of Seokmin’s forearm there is still ink from when Minghao doodled flowers there, grapevine unfurling. 

_ Oh,  _ Seokmin remembers thinking with absurd clarity. Years later he will still see this moment in Technicolor, the earth tilting on its axis. Back then, it was simply because he had never had a real relationship before. That, in itself, was monumental enough.  _ He likes me.  _

*

It goes something like this: Seokmin feels too big for his own body, and does not like anything about it. He hates his face and he hates his skin and he hates his skinny arms and he hates his voice that  _ still cracks.  _ He hates how he looks in board shorts and he hates how he looks in the fancy clothes his mom makes him wear sometimes and he hates his school uniform, too. 

He joins the drama club because he figures it will look nice on college applications overseas. He doesn’t expect to actually play in anything, not when the yearly project is a musical and Seokmin hasn’t been able to hold a steady note in months. 

On stage he realizes that most things only matter insofar as one decides that they do. He wears a crab costume and messes up his lines in front of an audience of seventy people and nothing terrible happens. That year, he kisses two boys, learns what it feels like to have someone else’s hand around your dick, and what it feels like to have your heart broken. High School as a whole, he discovers, is a lot like an amateur production of  _ Little Shop of Horrors.  _ Many mental breakdowns, a frankly concerning lack of adult supervision, metaphoric carnivorous plants, Kim Mingyu’s unexplainable presence, and constant sexual innuendo. It is, all in all, something Seokmin is horribly grateful for, and simultaneously something he never wants to live through again. 

*

It goes something like this: Minghao thinks everything about Seokmin’s body is fascinating. He spends hours drumming fingers along the line of his forearm, hours kissing the side of Seokmin’s neck, hours  _ studying  _ in Seokmin’s room straddling his lap, his hands under Seokmin’s shirt. He’s curious in ways Seokmin does not understand, because Seokmin  _ wants  _ with the force of a hurricane, no time for thinking. Minghao likes to explore. 

The first time they kiss, timid and clumsy and objectively bad, he blinks twice as he pulls away. The only thing Seokmin wants to do is to tug him back in, but Minghao says  _ mmh,  _ frowning, and Seokmin’s stomach drops. 

“It’s different from what I expected,” Minghao says. 

“Kissing a boy?” Seokmin asks, newborn anxiety teething. 

“Just kissing,” Minghao shakes his head. Seokmin feels himself grinning. 

“Wanna do it again?”

*

It goes like this: years later Minghao will tell him he spent every minute of their high school years desperately trying to impress him. Seokmin will look back at days and days of profound confusion, of walking on eggshells around Minghao mostly guided by the overwhelming fear of fucking this up.

It is a story in three acts. Circling each other, learning each other like archeologists in the desert with nothing but an ocean of will and no Rosetta Stone for help. At first Minghao touches him like there are secrets under Seokmin’s skin and he is trying to get there, under, where the meaning lives. He is a rock and Seokmin is the sea, and they kiss and pull away and kiss and then break on each other. In their first year of dating they have seven horrible, unavoidable fights. Seokmin is so good at twisting words into daggers; he learns that about himself with Minghao. They face each other and hold mirrors and both want to look away, and both want to never stop looking, and in the end it all boils down to this. 

*

It goes like this: Minghao says,  _ Seokmin, I want you to fuck me,  _ and Seokmin says,  _ Are you sure,  _ eyes wide, and Minghao kisses him hard and pulls him towards the bed. They are seventeen and they have just taken the CSAT and they’ve applied to seven colleges, their list identical. Seokmin’s parents think tying yourself to your high school best friend like that is frivolous, but Seokmin’s parents don’t know what Minghao looks like in total trust, Seokmin’s palm over his heart, his breathing coming out harsh and short and needy.  _ No one else  _ knows what Minghao looks like, like this, body a wire, words reduced to pleas. When Minghao comes he cries out Seokmin’s name and tightens his hold on Seokmin’s hand, and Seokmin thinks  _ I want to take care of you, I want to take care of you for the rest of my life.  _

*

It goes something like this: when Seokmin moves into his first apartment by himself he buys a bed big enough for two.

*

It goes something like this: in any crowded room Minghao and Seokmin speak with their eyes.

*

It goes something like this: at the grocery store, Seokmin says, “Honey, can you remember if we have any—” and Minghao says, “We have six eggs left” and Seokmin says, “No,  _ cucumbers, _ step up your mind reading game!”

*

It goes something like this: “Hey,” Minghao murmurs into the crook of Seokmin’s neck. “Seokmin, love, do you want to marry me?” 

It is dark outside, quiet. Not even the moonlight can filter in through their closed blinds. Seokmin cannot see Minghao, only touch him. 

“We can’t,” he says softly. 

Minghao huffs a soundless laugh against his throat. “Not the question I asked.” 

“You know,” Seokmin says. It tastes heavy on his tongue the way liquor does. Blindly, he finds Minghao’s hand and grips it. “You know I want this life with you, and if there is something after I want to be with you there too.” 

_ We don’t need rings for that, do we?  _ he doesn’t ask, because the answer is no but the answer is also yes, in a way that he doesn’t have the words to explain. He does not want to be angry about the way he loves Minghao. 

*

It goes something like this: Minghao has one knee to the ground, and a ring box in his hand. 

“Fuck,” Seokmin says. “Ah,  _ shit,  _ sorry. God, I can’t stop swearing.” 

“Oh no, please go on,” Minghao grins. “Get it all out.” 

“Fuck,” Seokmin repeats. “Cock. Balls. I hope you’re not filming this.” 

“He is!” Junhui’s voice pipes in from… somewhere. Seokmin doesn’t want to know. 

“Can I ask my question now?” Minghao asks. He’s still smiling ear to ear. 

“Yes,” Seokmin says. He means,  _ yes.  _

“Lee Seokmin,” Minghao starts. Seokmin’s heart is beating everywhere in his body. 

It goes something like this. 

  
  


***

**Author's Note:**

> i’m always happy to hear your thoughts ❤️  
> you can also find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/junmotions)!


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